


Indulgence

by Denise



Category: Sanctuary (TV)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-08-04
Updated: 2012-08-04
Packaged: 2017-11-11 09:26:55
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,257
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/477060
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Denise/pseuds/Denise
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Magnus allows herself one indulgence</p>
            </blockquote>





	Indulgence

Disclaimer Sanctuary is owned by S3M and lots of folks that aren't me. This story is for entertainment purposes only and no money exchanged hands. This story is for entertainment purposes only and no money exchanged hands. No copyright infringement is intended. The original characters, situations, and story are the property of the author. This story may not be posted elsewhere without the consent of the author.

 

It wasn't often that she indulged herself. At first, it was a matter of survival. For all the anonymity of 1898 London, in reality it was a very small place. Social circles and being seen in the 'proper' places to be often tracked ones movements better than any 21st century 'big brother'.

To stay hidden, she had to stay away. Old habits didn't just die hard, they had to be mercilessly quashed. Familiar haunts were now traps, pitfalls that could reveal her existence and destroy the timeline.

It was harder than she thought, to walk away and never turn back. Watson had given her some cash and offered to make her a new identity. An offer she'd turned down because he couldn't know where she was going or who she was going to be. His inquisitive mind was enough of a danger without him having anything else to work with.

She may be trapped in the past, penniless and friendless, but she had one advantage that no one else did, over a hundred years of experience knowing who to talk to and how to talk to them. Where to be, and where not to be.

It took her less than a fortnight to create a new identity, just a little more to access 'lost' funds and treasures. Her living was simple, nothing like her counterpart. There were no parties or soirees. No balls or tea parties. She went out of her way too be as unremarkable as possible.

She couldn't be Doctor Magnus anymore. She couldn't be Doctor anyone. That was far too remarkable. Not to mention that she couldn't save anyone's life that would not normally have been saved. It was hard to abandon the one thing she'd fought so very hard to be allowed to learn.

She knew where her current self was, and would be, and she went out of her way to stay out of the way.  
After years of wittingly, and unwittingly, being an eyewitness to history's notable events, now she needed to settle herself as an observer only. Anyone that didn't further her plan or serve her needs had to be avoided.

It was easier that way, not just to go unnoticed, but to avoid the guilt. It was harder than she'd imagined, to witness history, to live it again. To watch fate claim its victims, a merciless, relentless march of death.

She cried the day the grand ship set sail, knowing its passengers were doomed to an icy and terrifying end.

She rode out World War One in South America, struggling to remind herself that it had to be called the Great War, because no one could know that another, worse war, was yet to come.

She survived the Great Depression, this time with the dispassion of a person whose funds were safe and who was outside, not in the inner circle struggling to fix it all.

She sat in a park that fateful Sunday in December, watching the rest of the world go on, totally unaware that thousands of miles away countless young men were dying, drowning and entombed forever under the fuel befouled waves of an island paradise.

The next few years were the hardest and she shut herself away, the pain and knowledge of so many deaths, so very many that she could do nothing about nearly driving her mad. She hid then, finding places where there was no news, no radio, nothing but silence and peace, which she hoped would quiet the ghosts that haunted her sleep.

The rest of the world's crisis were easier to witness. Not only did she have the foreknowledge that many of them would work out relatively well, she also had her own plans to manage, her own plots and schemes to nurture and guard. It was a welcome distraction.

Finally, almost a hundred years after she hid, she granted herself this one indulgence. This one bit of contact with her present self. This one moment of reassurance and hope.

It was a gorgeous summer's day. The breeze rustled the leaves, doing little to mitigate the humidity that hung in the air. If memory served her, there was going to be a storm tonight, a loud cacophony of thunder and rain.

But that was later. Now the park was full of parents and children, all enjoying the sunshine.

She sat on the bench, ignoring the discomfort of the wig she wore. She opened her book and slide large sunglasses onto her face. By tilting her head just right she was able to watch, without looking like she was watching.

Right on schedule, her quarry ran into the park, her blond hair flying behind her. Helen abandoned all pretense at reading and surrendered to her indulgence. She watched as Ashley played, nothing but joy on her face as the threw herself into her task with reckless abandon. The girl laughed and ran, screaming in delight as her mother chased her up and down, in and around the playground.

Carefree, Ashley climbed into a swing, her hands gripping the chain as she demanded to go higher and higher. Helen looked at herself, thoroughly immersed in simply playing. There was no worry on her face, no fear. She had no idea what was to come. No inkling just how short her daughter's life would be.

Oh, she'd always suspected that she'd outlive Ashley. Always carried that fear in her heart. It was a dark shadow, a ghost that hid behind every happy moment. But when she'd envisioned her daughter's death she'd seen an old woman in the coffin, surrounded by her own family and children. Someone at the end of a long life. Not an empty box full of nothing but mementos of a life ended much too soon.

You could stop it.

The idea flitted through her brain. A temptation slithered past her defenses, insidious in its simple power. Her mind ran with the idea, quickly deducing several ways it could happen.

A whispered warning delivered through an intermediary.

A carefully cryptic note.

A phone call.

Easy. It would oh so easy.

She got to her feet, the book falling unnoticed onto the ground.

She could take Ashley away, remove her from the timeline. She could crush the Cabal, murder it before it grew to full power. Kill Dana. Kill the scientist. Destroy the source blood before it could be used. She could...

"No," she whispered, clenching her fists as if to cling to the air and hold herself still. "No," she sighed with sad resolution. She spun on her heel, holding her eyes forward even as her instincts screamed to turn back.

She could not change.

She WOULD not change.

She would not grant herself the same thing she denied Adam all those years ago. 'Death of a child, a wound that never heals'. Adam's words from a century past mocked her as she strode away.

"Indulgence is a weakness," she decided, angrily dashing away the tears that burned down her cheeks. Success...salvation, came with merciless resolve. She could not afford to be weak if she was to succeed.

And she would succeed.

~Fin~


End file.
